


Beauty's Rose Might Never Die

by agoodpersonrose



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Animal Death, Class Differences, First Kiss, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Merlin Inspired, Renaissance Era, Royalty, Swordfighting, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodpersonrose/pseuds/agoodpersonrose
Summary: “I think I’d like to be a farmer,” David says softly, staring out of the window to his left, where the hills are crowded and scattered with farm animals. In a few hours over those hills will ride the collection of suitors all rushing to compete for a kiss from the elusive Prince.To avoid the necessity of an arranged marriage, King John of Rose Creek arranges for his son to choose a suitor during a day-long tournament in his honour. The winner will earn both a kiss from the Prince, as well as his hand in marriage. When an unfamiliar Knight makes his way into the competition, David finds himself swept off his feet, and longing to know more.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 31
Kudos: 113





	Beauty's Rose Might Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> _From fairest creatures we desire increase,_   
>  _That thereby beauty's rose might never die,_   
>  _But as the riper should by time decease,_   
>  _His tender heir might bear his memory:_   
>  _But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,_   
>  _Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,_   
>  _Making a famine where abundance lies,_   
>  _Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel._   
> 

The sun shines over the Kingdom of Rose Creek. Birds are singing, the townspeople are going about their business, and the Prince, a young (or so he likes to be called) man named David Rose is asleep in bed.

“Good morning, sire!” the eager manservant greets him from the door. He smiles and lets the pillow that the prince routinely throws at him hit him square in the face and fall to the floor before reaching down to scoop it up and approaching the bed.

“Mnh-ugh.”

“I agree, it is a beautiful morning, sire! Now, let’s get you up and at them to greet the day!”

David makes another unintelligible noise as his servant begins pulling at the bedsheets, sending a shock wave of cold air across David’s body. He shivers and yelps, standing up on the even colder stone floor and pauses to glare at the man in front of him.

“Ray, has anyone ever told you that you are possibly the most infuriating man I have ever met?” David grumbles, pulling at his bedclothes and crossing his arms against his chest to ward off the early morning breeze.

“I’m sure they have, sire,” Ray says as he turns his focus away from making the bed and gestures for the Prince to follow him to the centre of the room. “But today is a very important day for the Kingdom, and your father was adamant that you should be up and dressed before the suitors arrive.”

“Ugh, the suitors,” David moans as Ray manhandles his arms up to pull his silky white bed shirt off and replace it with a black tunic, embellished with silver stitching of roses around the hem and neckline. “I’d almost forgotten.”

The pair are silent for a moment while David thinks, his eyebrows furrowed over his dark expressive eyes as he mindlessly allows his manservant to dress him.

“Have you ever worked on a farm, Ray?”

The manservant frowns bemusedly and shakes his head. “I was raised for service,” he says as he neatens out the silk buttons running down David’s chest. “Though I have cousins in the surrounding villages who work on the land, why do you ask, sire?”

“I think I’d like to be a farmer,” David says softly, staring out of the window to his left, where the hills are crowded and scattered with farm animals. In a few hours over those hills will ride the collection of suitors all rushing to compete for a kiss from the elusive Prince.

Little do they know it is all a ploy arranged by David’s parents to find him a suitor, someone to marry in the kindest way so that David has some level of choice in his impending nuptials, all to avoid the likelihood of an otherwise arranged marriage with the child of some other Kingdom’s diplomat. It was a kindness, to provide David with this tournament instead, and yet David finds he would rather be anywhere else but here.

He is drawn out of his melancholy thoughts as the man in front of him chortles warmheartedly. “Being a farm hand is hard physical work, my lord.” Ray says as he turns around to face the table, fiddling with something and then turning back to face David. He steps forward and carefully places David’s shining silver ringlet on his head, carefully altering the placement of a few errant strands of hair as he does so. “You’re much better in the position you are in, if you don’t mind me saying. What more could a man want than all the riches the Kingdom could offer, and a tournament in his honour?”

David hums, “Yes, what more could I want,” he muses, allowing Ray to make the final tweaks to his appearance before stepping out the door to join his family in the Banquet Hall.

***

The hall has been decorated in the way only the royals can accomplish. The large oak wooden tables at the front with the four decadently carved thrones all laid out in a row. David is the last to arrive and earns a disappointed eyebrow furrow from the King as he rounds the busy tables and takes his seat, allowing Ray to pull out his chair first of all.

On the other side of the table, just out of reach, David can see his sister, Princess Alexis, talking quietly to her Lady-in-waiting, Twyla, giggling idly about something and shooting him amused looks past their parents.

David scowls and flinches as Ray shakes out his napkin and places it just a little too perfectly on David’s lap. He waves a hand to dismiss his manservant and turns to dig into the delectable bread and cheese, and plump fruits all displayed on the table in front of him.

Breakfast is a sombre affair. David, too lost in his own thoughts, brushes off the attempts by his family and other noblemen in the surrounding vicinity to make conversation. The King and Queen chat idly between themselves until all talk is drawn to a close by the playing of the royal trumpets, signalling an announcement is to be made.

The hustle and bustle of servants and nobles quietens as everyone turns their attention to the front of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the courtier shouts, holding a rolled-up parchment out in front of him, his voice cracking from the strain of calling loud enough.

The King winces and waves a hand, “We can all hear you just fine, Roland,” he says, and the courtier nods, “continue.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Roland repeats, at a far better volume this time. “The suitors of our beloved Prince David have arrived!”

The wooden doors are thrown open and a small group of five armoured knights and noblemen, step forward. David leans to the side as his mother bats at his arm to hear what she has to say.

“Where is the Lady Stevie this morn?” she asks, and the long blonde hairs of her wig tickle David’s arm as she leans closer. “I would have thought she would want to be here for this _reticent_ dis-play.”

David just smirks, his eyes running down the line of suitors to meet those of his best friend.

He nods towards the figure he recognises as Stevie and his mother follows his eyesight, shooting him an amused look. “ _Da-_ vid,” she drones, with exaggerated concern in her voice even as her eyes twinkle with humour. “If you had wanted to marry your young lady consort then all you had to do was say. Your father and I are very fond of the Lady Stevie and would support this match tenfold.”

David scoffs quietly and watches out the corner of his eye as the group of suitors are gestured to line up and approach the table one by one.

“I don’t want to marry _Stevie,_ ” he says to his mother. “It’s a back-up plan. If I don’t want to marry any of the other suitors then I will ask for her hand in marriage, and then our engagement will fall apart for otherwise unknown reasons.”

The Queen tuts but David can see that she is impressed by the look in her eyes.

Their attention is drawn back to the room as the courtier Roland starts announcing the first candidates.

“Sir Jake, of Woodbury!” he calls, as a tall, well-built man approaches the table. From under his cloak, he pulls out a rose, but instead of handing it to David, he gives it to the Queen, bowing deeply.

“Your highness,” he says with a smirk as Moira takes the rose and holds it in a delicate grip. He barely stops in front of David, simply sending him a wink and strolling back around to start a line at the back.

The announcements continue, and more suitors step forward.

“Lady Heather, of Cranbrook.”

“Sir Sebastien, of Cockington.”

“Lady Stevie, of Rose Creek.”

At this announcement, the King shoots David a glare that screams of ‘we will talk about this later’. Stevie approaches the table and gets down on one knee in front of David. The metal of her armour screeches against the floor and David has to suppress a smirk.

“My Lord, I am your most humblest of servants,” she says with a grin. “I will risk my life in this tournament to earn your favour, and a kiss from you, my Prince.”

David is unable to open his mouth without laughing so simply nods and watches as she stumbles up from her position on the floor and heads to follow the route around the room.

“Sir Patrick, of Brewers Hill.”

David watches with interest as the final suitor steps forward. He is different from the others; he seems unsure of the protocol and stumbles as he approaches the table.

“Brewers Hill?” the King muses, “I have never heard of such a place. Have you come from afar?”

The Knight blushes, almost dropping the helmet he has stashed under his arm at being addressed directly by the King. “Only a few weeks travel, your highness,” he says, dropping his head under the strain of King John’s interest.

“Very good, Sir Patrick, it shows commitment to have travelled so far. Good luck in the games.”

To David’s surprise, Patrick approaches his throne before leaving.

“My Lord,” he says, dropping his head down in a small bow before raising it. David can see his earnest brown eyes as he looks directly at him, unwavering. “I was under the impression a token of appreciation should be brought to you in order to try and win your favour.”

“My favour is not so easily won,” the Prince murmurs but watches with interest as Patrick turns around and gestures to one of the servants by the door. They rush over and hand the Knight a small box which he places daintily on the table in front of David. “What is this?”

“Sweetmeats, sire.”

“I hope they didn’t cost you too much,” David says softly as he opens the box and looks on in interest. “The royal kitchens will steal half to ensure that they are safe for me to eat.”

Sir Patrick seems unphased and simply smiles. “They did not cost me much, in fact, they were made by my mother.”

“Your mother?”

The Knight shrugs bashfully and avoids eye contact again.

“Thank you for your gift,” David says, pulling the box just slightly closer in a clear acceptance of the gesture.

“Thank you for your favour,” Sir Patrick murmurs in response, soft enough that it is likely only David, and perhaps his mother, heard the softly spoken words.

“I didn’t--” David starts to argue but his voice drops off as Sir Patrick simply gives him a lopsided smile and follows the route around to join the line at the back of the room.

“The Tournament shall begin shortly,” the courtier shouts from the front of the room. David is pulled out of his shellshocked reverie and turns his attention back to the matter at hand. “Once the nobles have prepared, they will go through a number of competitions, ending in a single combat duel between the two victors. The winner shall receive the much sought after kiss from the Prince David as well as a considerable monetary prize, and a seat in the Royal Court.”

There is silence for a moment, and the King hisses his courtiers name to prompt him into action.

“Oh, sorry Johnny-- I mean, sire,” he fumbles with the parchment for a moment before raising his arms. “Let the games begin!”

The suitors are led out of the Great Hall. The King stands, signalling the end of the meal, and the nobles begin to slowly file out of the room in small groups. The rustling of a long gown behind him preempts David to his sister’s presence, and he barely startles when a manicured hand grabs on to his arm as they walk in the direction of the arena.

“So,” Alexis croons into David’s ear as she swings along. “Which one of the suitors has your favour?”

“They haven’t even started competing yet,” David says with a sigh, turning his head slightly to remind Alexis that the conversation isn’t private; Ray and Twyla are following close behind.

“It was very cute of Stevie to enter the games for you, David. Is something going on there?” Alexis continues to push.

David snorts, “You know there isn’t. Stevie is as much a sister as you are at this point and you know Father would never accept the marriage no matter how desperate he is for me to be wed.”

“Sir Patrick was very…” Alexis trails off, fiddling with a piece of errant hair thoughtlessly.

“What? Did you want to slip in and claim him?” David asks, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of possessiveness rising at even the thought.

“Ew, David, no!” Alexis exclaims. “The poor little button only had eyes for you.”

She still looks away contemplatively, and David grows tired of her heavy silence.

“What?” he questions.

“Have you ever heard of Brewers Hill?” she asks.

“No, but he did say it was several weeks journey from here.”

“But David, the tournament was only announced a few weeks ago, and for the message to have gotten that far…”

Before David can think on this, they find themselves approaching the arena. The wooden audience seats decked in brightly coloured flags from all the competitors home Kingdoms. David finds himself frowning at the large, rather plain, blue flag with a large B in the centre.

“Whose coat of arms is that?” he asks, gesturing to it.

Alexis shrugs as they make their way up the staircase at the back of the stands and around to the viewing platform. David sits centre, taking the seat his mother would usually occupy as focal point of the tournament, his sister to his side wiggling excitedly at the atmosphere.

***

The first part of the tournament sees the contestants choosing a special talent to showcase in front of the Royal family. Lady Heather paints with chalk, recreating the images of the rolling hills in the backdrop to the stadium.

When Sir Jake steps forward, he is shirtless and covered in mud. He calls audience members forward to sit on a long bench which he then hoists into the air and carries on his shoulders, his muscles bulging at the effort of the lift.

A herd of animals is then led into the arena; boars from the surrounding woods, and Sir Sebastien steps forward for his round.

The crowd gasps as the Knight Sebastien wards off a herd of pigs. He dramatically plunges his sword through the heart of the beast, and the wet squeal can be heard amongst all the townspeople.

David turns away distastefully pulling a face.

“Ew,” Alexis mutters from beside him. “You definitely cannot marry _him_ David.”

“Way ahead of you, Alexis,” David returns, still refusing to look back at the scene of the crime.

It takes a while to clean up the mess Sir Sebastien had left, but then Lady Stevie steps forward. She slowly builds a tower of furniture out of benches and boxes, climbing deftly up it until it reaches the same height as the viewing platform David is sat on.

From her tower, she bows deeply and blows a kiss to the Prince who laughs jovially along with her and rolls his eyes despite being secretly impressed by her display of agility.

Finally, the mysterious Sir Patrick enters the field. He brings with him simply a small wooden stool and a block of wood. He sits in the centre of the arena and pulls out his dagger, casually whistling as he begins chipping away at the block.

The audience sits in awed silence as he works slowly. David finds himself leaning over the balcony to try and better see his work, but the man is too far away, and his project is too small to really get a good look.

“What is it, David? What is he making?” his father asks from his right side.

“I have no idea,” David mutters in response, unable to tear his eyes away from the man’s deft fingers and careful craftsmanship.

“This truly is an unusual talent. I hope it’s not losing him points, son,” The King asks, as the carving continues in silence.

David scoffs, “Honestly at this point, as long as he doesn’t kill any sort of wild animal right in front of me, he’s through to the next round,” he says, his brain already providing flashbacks of the poor dead pig from only an hour before.

“Ahh, so you _are_ interested in Sir Patrick,” the King says casually.

David turns to give him a dirty look but is immediately called back to the stadium.

“My Lord?” Sir Patrick calls from below. “A gift, for you.”

David frowns, “Another gift? Anyone would think you were trying to win me over,” he teases, but leans over as the Knight wraps the wooden item in a handkerchief and lightly tosses it up for the Prince to catch. He thankfully doesn’t fumble the catch, clutching onto it tightly to make sure it doesn’t slip away.

David takes a seat in his throne and lets the cloth fall open in his lap. Inside, an ornately carved rose of shining wood sits, with a delicate stalk and individually shaped petals all done to the neatest design.

He looks up to see Sir Patrick still standing, his hands clasped in front of him, awaiting a response.

“It’s beautiful,” he calls out, cherishing the gentle smile that grows on that face because of him. David bats Alexis’ hand away as she reaches out for it, and quickly slips it into his tunic pocket for safe keeping.

Sir Patrick bows clumsily, just slightly too deep for a nobleman, and rises, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He rushes off to join the other competitors in a row as David leans over to make his choice known to his father.

The King rises where he is sat and raises his hands up to silence the crowd. “My son has made his choice; Sir Sebastien has lost his favour.”

The Knight in question scowls as he is led away from the arena.

“Let the next round of competition begin!”

The horses are brought out, and the competitors mount their steads. Sir Patrick does so clumsily, with none of the grace of the other knights and noblewomen, but David chalks it up to nerves as he watches him shift in the saddle. Each competitor takes their turn around the arena, showing their prowess over the animals, as well as their good heart and self-control.

David watches carefully as Sir Jake leads his stead across the arena with complete control. The ride is perfect in every way and shows impressive capability.

Next, Stevie rides the same, having taken to the horse from a young age. David remembers taking lessons with her in their youth; while he was thrown off the temperamental steed at every corner, she had always been at one with the animal.

In contrast, Sir Patrick rides clumsily, but his right hand remains gently rubbing the horses back and neck as if to calm it. He notes the kindness of this gesture and catches his family glancing at him knowingly.

Finally, Lady Heather leads her horse forward. They get to the first stop, and the animal suddenly startles; it rises onto its back legs and almost throws its rider off. She calms it finally, with soft words and a reassuring touch, but the Kingdom’s animal tamer has to step in to help her.

David pokes Alexis teasingly as they watch Theodore calm the mare and help to lead it away and his sister bats his hand away in response. Lady Heather is flushed in the face in embarrassment as the competitors all line up, and David feels bad for a moment as he nods to his father.

“Lady Heather, I am afraid you have lost my son’s favour,” his booming voice rings out across the courtyard. “Please ensure you are seen by the court physician to check for injuries before you leave.”

The next round is archery; despite his considerable strength, this is apparently Sir Jake’s weak point, as he shoots the arrow and it sails right on past the target, causing a section of the audience to jump from their seats to avoid being impaled.

David can’t help but laugh in response as his father waves Sir Jake away and announces a small break before the final competition. The last step of the tournament is the one-on-one combat. Sir Patrick and Lady Stevie will go head to head to win the battle, and the victor will be gifted a kiss from the Prince, and unbeknownst to the rest of the audience, his hand in marriage.

The Prince takes the opportunity to stretch his legs and heads down to the competitor’s tent to talk to his friend. He ducks through the white fabric and looks around for the small brunette, but she is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he runs straight into the other competitor and almost falls back, if it weren’t for the armour-clad hand that reaches out to catch his arm.

“Oh! I’m so sorry--” Sir Patrick trails off as he stares open mouthed at the Prince in front of him. “My Lord, I apologise, that was completely my doing. Um--”

David tucks a smile into the corner of his mouth and shakes his head gently. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Sir Patrick lets out a slow breath and smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet all the while.

“Um, I wanted to thank you, for the wood-carving, and the sweetmeats,” David starts awkwardly, watching the Knight in front of him look up in surprise.

“I’m sorry I could not give more,” Sir Patrick says softly, looking up at David periodically through his thick, fanned, eyelashes. “I’m sure a man such as yourself receives many a gift from his admirer, and if I were able, I would give you far more than a wood carving and some sweetmeats from my mother.”

David laughs self-deprecatingly and shakes his head. “Um, well actually, believe it or not, I usually don’t receive gifts from suitors. And even if I did, they are gifts that I could have bought myself. It was nice to receive something I wouldn’t otherwise be blessed with.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You know, if I had a little more time, I’m sure I could make something far more impressive than a rose. I used to make these toy dragons for the children in my family, we couldn’t afford anything else and sometimes they were pretty choppy but, they seemed to like them.”

“Big family?”

“Huge,” Sir Patrick says, nodding. “Cousins, and nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles that sprawl all across the nearby Kingdoms.”

“Did they push you to become a Knight?”

At this, Patrick’s smile falters and he looks nervous all over again. “Um, no, no they didn’t.”

Outside, the sound of the trumpets pulls Prince David back into reality.

“That’s my drill,” Sir Patrick says, grabbing a helmet from the table next to him.

“Yes, yes it is. And mine,” David confirms, nodding. “Um--” Before Sir Patrick can leave, he swiftly leans in and, taking his shoulder to steady him, brushes a gentle kiss onto Patrick’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Patrick asks gently when David pulls away.

“Just a kiss, for luck,” David stutters awkwardly, somehow his royal demeanour falling and becoming weak under Patrick’s gently amused expression.

“Well then what am I competing for?”

David lets out a small laugh. “A repeat performance,” he says cheekily, watching as Patrick’s eyebrows bounce up in pleased surprise. “Good luck in the-- tournament. Perhaps I will see you after?”

“Yes, you will,” Patrick says nodding, red in the face and showing a closed lip smile as he backs towards the tent flap. Just before he ducks out of it, he raises a hand to his lips and blows David an awkward kiss, grinning all the while.

Prince David gives himself one more minute in the tent before heading out, catching Lady Stevie’s arm on his way back to the viewing platform.

“Hey, what’s the plan boss?” Stevie asks as he tugs on her arm.

“Um, you can just, you know, go easy on him,” David says, waving a hand in an overly casual manner even as he eyes widen at him in excitement.

“You want me to let him win?” she asks, awe clear in her voice.

“I didn’t say let him win, I just-- You know, if he _does_ win, then that wouldn’t be so-- bad?”

Stevie punches him in the arm in her excitement, her armoured hand bruising his shoulder as she does so and causing him to wince in response. “Oh my God, David, okay. I’ll go easy on him.”

“Thank you,” he replies softly, a shy smile already growing on his face.

“Hey,” she shouts as he walks away in the direction of his seat. “I like this for you.”

“Me too.”

***

Despite her promise, it seems Lady Stevie is not willing to go easy on Sir Patrick. Either that, or Sir Patrick gained his knighthood from some unknown method, because his ability to fight is seriously lacking.

He drops his sword twice, fumbles a thrust, and almost impales himself on Stevie’s sword due to a misjudged step forward.

Alexis’ fingernails are like talons in David’s palm as she clutches to him anxiously, watching the session with unblinking eyes, afraid to miss a thing.

Sir Patrick seems to have gotten into the rhythm of things despite losing the trust of the crowd, who are clamouring for Lady Stevie to end the battle and “finish him!”

Despite this, Prince David spots her purposefully feint to the left, allowing Sir Patrick to catch her with his sword and knock her to the ground. He gently places his foot on her breastplate as she lies there, though his breathing is far heavier than her own.

The crowd is screaming as the King stands. Silence falls as he waits patiently.

“It appears we have a winner!” he calls, and the noise starts up again. Sir Patrick pulls his helmet off, ruffling his sweat-sodden curls and making them stick up in awkward directions. His face is lit with the brightest smile as he looks up towards the viewing platform with eager eyes. “Sir Patrick of Brewers Hill, if you’d like to collect your prize.”

Patrick hesitates in order to help Lady Stevie off the ground. She accepts his hand up and slaps him jovially on the shoulder in celebration as David and his family make their way down the platform’s wooden steps and to the front of the arena, the audience watching excitedly all the while.

Prince David wrings his hands nervously as Sir Patrick approaches and is met by his family.

“Congratulations Sir Patrick, you make a fine Knight, I’m sure your Kingdom will be very proud,” the King says, shaking his hand energetically. Patrick kisses the hands of the Queen and the Princess who finally step back to leave him with the Prince.

“Hi,” Sir Patrick says softly, smiling as if nervous now that he is finally stood in front of his prize.

“Hi,” David responds.

“Um, I don’t know what to--"

“Well the norm is that the victor would kiss the cheek proffered to them,” David says, turning his face to offer it up to the Knight.

Patrick lets out a nervous laugh and nods, crouching to quickly put his helmet down on the ground before stepping back towards David. “Okay,” he murmurs again as if working up the courage, before leaning in.

Just before his lips can make impact, David turns his head and catches them with his own. Patrick makes a startled noise but recovers quickly, pushing in to return the kiss with enthusiasm.

Sir Patrick’s lips are warm from his exertion. In fact, his whole body is thrumming with nervous energy which David resolves to kiss out of him as he opens his mouth just slightly and encourages the other man to deepen their embrace.

The raucous noise of the crowd brings the pair back to reality. David presses one final quick kiss onto Sir Patrick’s lips before they pull back and smiles angelically at the shellshocked man in front of him.

The clapping and cheering become louder, but David can barely tear his eyes away from Patrick; his glittering opal eyes, and plush red lips screaming to be kissed again. He’s on the verge of leaning back in when his father cups his shoulder.

“Congratulations son. Now seems as good a time as any to announce the impending nuptials.”

“The impending, what--” Patrick mumbles, his dazed eyes suddenly turning narrow, and darting around anxiously.

“Welcome to the family, Sir Patrick of Brewers Hill. I trust you will make a fine husband for my son, and together I can rest knowing our Kingdom is in good hands.”

“David--” Sir Patrick croaks out. David looks at him properly and sees his face has turned a sick shade of white, and his is physically trembling where he is stood.

“Come on,” he murmurs, supporting Patrick by the elbow as he leads him away from the crowds. His father continues to speak to the crowds and doesn’t seem to notice them leaving, which David is grateful for, as the man in his arms seems to be on the verge of falling down where he is stood.

They finally find sanctuary in the armoury. The noise of the festival is quieter from here, and the room is cool, giving them a brief recess from the heat of the summer day.

Patrick fumbles with his armour, scrabbling to get it off as soon as possible and fumbling with the clasps clumsily.

“Let me help,” David says gently, stepping in to unclip the breast plate and armour with steady fingers. David slowly removes the metal from Patrick piece by piece, letting his fingers brush the skin tantalisingly underneath. He helps Patrick lift his chainmail over his head and drop it on the awaiting table before stepping close again.

“There, better?” he asks, thumbing over the fabric around the neck of Patrick’s blue tunic. “I’m sorry my father just threw all that at you. You don’t-- You don’t _have_ to marry me, it was just kind of expected that you would want to, because of the kiss and everything, and the whole-- tournament.”

Sir Patrick’s eyes go wide. “I do want to marry you, David. There’s nothing I want more than to be by your side.”

David feels his shoulders relax and he lets out a steady breath. “Okay,” he says, grinning. “What’s all this about then?”

“I can’t marry you.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand, David. You should be marrying a nobleman and-- oh _God,_ you should be marrying a Knight.”

“Patrick,” David says gently, as if talking to a child. “You _are_ a Knight.”

“No, I’m not,” Patrick says weakly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of _course_ you’re a Knight, how would you have gotten into this tournament in the first place? How would you have _won_ this tournament if you weren’t a knight?”

Patrick raises an eyebrow and suddenly David is hit with the truth. The clumsy mounting of his horse. The fumbling with the sword during the fight. The blatant lack of clarity over court etiquette and rules.

“Oh my God, you’re _not_ a Knight, are you?” David murmurs. The guilty expression on Patrick’s face proves his statement to be true, and he finds himself falling backwards into a fortunately placed chair in the corner of the armoury. “What are you then? If you’re not a Knight, what are you? A Count? A Baron?”

Patrick shakes his head silently.

“Oh my God. You’re not even that are you?”

“I come from a village several days ride from here. Brewer is my family name; the village is actually called Belle-Rose. My father owns his own business. They bake bread and--”

“Sweetmeats,” David mutters in soft resignation as he remembers the treats, he had been gifted just that morning. “Your mother’s sweetmeats.”

“Look, David, I- I’m sorry,” Patrick stutters.

“You will address the Crown Prince in the correct way or not at all,” David hisses angrily. “They could have you arrested for lying to the Crown. They could have you _executed_ for this. You could have been killed _._ Oh God, now I’m going to have to marry some stuck-up Knight or- or Stevie!”

Patrick’s face falls but David hardly notices as he focuses on taking slow and refined breaths in and out

“I’m so sorry, sire.”

“Why did you do it?” David asks, looking up pleadingly at Patrick. “Why would you lie, why would you let it get this far?”

“I didn’t mean to, truly!” Patrick pleads. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I never meant to lie to you. I just, I was running away from home, I needed to go somewhere else, when I arrived, I saw all these announcements about the competition and I don’t know, something compelled me to enter them. And then I saw you, and it was like, everything made sense. All sense of logic fell away and all I could think about-- I knew only of the kiss, you must know that. None of us knew of anything more than a kiss.”

“You understand that I can’t marry you?” David murmurs. “My father would never allow it; I am meant to marry someone of noble blood. Even if I-- No matter what I want, I can’t marry you.”

Patrick blinks slowly at David where he is hunched in the seat. He slowly makes his way across the room and lowers himself to the ground on one knee in front of the Prince. “I am at your mercy, my Lord. You are my Prince, and whatever punishment you give, I will take with no resistance.

“Get up,” David murmurs, pushing at his shoulders. “I am not your prince.”

Patrick doesn’t budge from where he is knelt at David’s feet. “You are, my Lord. I am loyal to you and you alone.”

“I can’t, I can’t marry you--” David forces out through a wheezing sob. His hand ghosts Patrick’s cheek and tilts his head up to look at him. “You are not of noble blood,” he repeats. “I have to marry of noble blood.”

“My blood is yours and yours alone,” Patrick says gently, his brown eyes bearing down on David’s face. “My skin and my bones belong to you, every part of me,” he reaches up and takes David’s hand from his face, pulling it down until it is pressed against his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart. “Yours,” he repeats, barely above a whisper.

David barely registers his own body moving to join Patrick’s on the floor until his knees hit the stone cobbles. They kneel facing each other, David’s hands slipping upwards again to cup his victor by the face and pull him closer.

David kisses him like it’s the first and last time. His lips are needy and desperate against Patrick’s, teeth and tongue pushing out to consume and surrender in kind to the gentle man in front of him.

Patrick begins a hapless victim of David’s advance but soon enough his muscles relax as the Prince caresses them. His arms come up to circle David’s waist and pull him closer, as if he couldn’t survive with any more than a breath between them.

David barely registers the high-pitched whine that escapes as Patrick’s tongue traces his bottom lip, asking permission to deepen their embrace. He grants it with ease, opening his mouth to permit entry as his arms clutch onto those wide shoulders that had crowned Patrick the victor.

He sucks on Patrick’s tongue just so and feels the full-bodied shudder that travels through his partners body in response.

David pulls back, flushed in the face, his lips red and swollen as he runs his own tongue across them nervously.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick whispers, his eyes still foggy with the aftereffects of the kiss. “My Prince, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

David cuts him off with another kiss, this time only a peck, pulling back to look at him with only softness in his expression. His thumb traces a line down Patrick’s chin to rub at his own swollen lips fondly.

“There are some things that should be arranged,” he says quietly. “Bags to be packed, and horses, we’ll need horses.”

Patrick is slow on the upkeep and simply gorms back at the Prince with clear confusion.

“Ray will get us horses, but he is not the most discreet. Perhaps Stevie will know. I should talk to her. But first I need to pack away my room. Clothes, and my sword. Jewellery perhaps. I will come back one day I’m sure, I will be King, but we will need these things for the time being, I have no intention of seeing my Father die any time soon.”

“Your father--” Patrick stutters out, his brain still stumbling to keep up with David’s logic behind glassy eyes.

“You were running away, so perhaps you don’t wish to return to Brewers Hill? We can go elsewhere, find a cottage, maybe a farm. You could work the land I could _watch_ you work the land. Perhaps I will learn to stitch; Alexis was never any good at it, but I always liked the look of it. Of course, I wasn’t permitted to learn, being a male heir, but this is the perfect opportunity.”

David kisses Patrick again and moves to stand up, his knees creaking as a result.

“My Lord--” Patrick squeaks out, tugging at him to remain seated but instead managing to be dragged up off the floor with him in David’s haste.

“You can drop the titles now,” David replies, twitching his fingers as if making a list in his mind of all the things he has yet to do. “There is no use in calling your husband Lord, and since we will be undercover, we must be discreet with my upbringing else the village people will become suspicious. I suppose this means I will need to learn basic chores, but you can teach me, I would learn.”

“David!” Patrick exclaims, finally getting the anxious man’s attention by grabbing onto his shoulders with a firm and steady grip. “What are you saying?”

David blinks as if finally seeing him for the first time and smiles. “We’ll run away, to Brewers Hill or to somewhere else. We can be together, and then, when it’s my turn on the throne we will return, and I will rule with you at my side. As my King.”

Patrick’s brain takes a while to compute with this, and the only criticism of the plan he can come up with is, “David. There is no Brewers Hill.”

David breathes out a laugh and nods, “Of course. You are Brewer. Or I guess, Rose now. We will need to find someone to marry us.”

“David, David stop,” Patrick finally catches up. He cups David’s face and holds him steady, looking him right in the eye. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, marry me, are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I just told you I wanted that. I want you. I don’t know what it is about you, Patrick. I just-- You’re something special to me, and this is all happening so fast, but it was going to happen fast either way. I feel like there is something good here, and I don’t want to let you go.” He pauses for breath, and looks at Patrick carefully, suddenly full of nerves. “Is that, is that okay with you?”

Patrick just grins; a fully-fledged overjoyed grin. He jumps up, tightening his arms around David’s shoulders to give him leverage to hang on as he kisses him firmly. “Let’s get married,” he whispers between their lips even as David leans in for another kiss.

***

David finds Stevie, who is immediately on board with the plan. She rushes to collect horses as the Prince leads Patrick by the hand back to his quarters.

“Do you think I’ll need my court session cape?” David asks, holding out a long, velvet cape from the cupboard. “I’ll pack my council session one, obviously. And my hunting one, and my foreign diplomat one.”

“Is there any different between any of these, David?” Patrick asks, watching him tuck the capes gently into bags as he focuses on the rest of his clothes.

David hums in acknowledgement but continues to frown at the cape. “It’s just-- It’s my favourite one.”

“Then pack that one and get rid of one of the others,” Patrick counters, looking up to see David pouting at him across the room. “Or pack all of them, but they’re going on _your_ horse.”

David puts the cape away and turns his back on it to stop himself from changing his mind. He turns to his jewellery case and thumbs through his various jewelled crowns with a sad expression on his face.

He startles when Patrick comes up behind him, his hands reaching around his waist and holding him in a gentle embrace. “You’re not going to be gone forever, you know,” he says over David’s shoulder. “We’ll come back, and all this will still be here.”

“Not all of it,” David murmurs sadly, taking the small silver crown in his hand. The first one he had received on his eighth birthday. He remembers his father placing it on his head and straightening it with gentle hands when it immediately slipped to the side. He remembers the look of pride on his parents faces when he paraded around in front of them, twirling in circles in excitement of having a little crown all of his own. Of being grown up like his mother and father, of being the future of Rose Creek.

Patrick hums, a low rumble through their chests, and kisses his shoulder softly, keeping his lips there as a warm pressure even through the layers of David’s clothes.

The clattering of the door draws them away from the moment, and David swings around to see his father marching in, cape flying behind him and gold crown glittering in the daylight, looking furious.

“What exactly do you think is going on here?” he asks the room.

“Um--”

“Lady Stevie tells me you’re packing, is this true?”

“Father--”

“I’d like to speak to my son, please,” the King says, gesturing for Patrick to leave. He shifts, but David grabs his arm and shakes his head. “In private.”

“Patrick stays here,” David says.

There’s a moment of silence, and suddenly Johnny Rose looks incredibly old. David watches as his shoulders sag in resigned exhaustion and he rubs a tired hand over his face.

“I’m just going to step out the door,” Patrick says to David, who makes a pleading noise and grasps at his hand. “It’s fine, I’ll be just out there through that wall, I won’t go anywhere.”

“But--”

Patrick pulls David in by the chin and kisses him quickly on the lips.

“Right out there,” he repeats, pointing at the wall with earnest eyes.

The door clicks shut with finality behind him and Prince David turns to his father with furrowed brows.

“I don’t understand, son, do you not want to marry him?”

David shakes his head. “No, I do. I want to marry him more than anything.”

“Then what is it? What could possibly lead to you wanting to run away from here, from your home, your family? Make me understand.”

“I--” David hesitates, the fear of saying too much and putting Patrick in danger weighing on his chest. “You wouldn’t want me to marry him,” he says softly.

This seems to surprise the King, who looks up with blatant confusion.

“He is not of noble blood. I must marry of noble blood and Patrick- Patrick is a baker’s son. He carves wood, and he can’t fight, and he can barely walk with all that armour on. I want to marry him more than anything, but I can’t put him at risk like that, so we were going to go away for a while and come back when all of this has died down.”

To David’s surprise, his father’s face shifts from astonishment, to joy, to outright laughter.

“What is happening here--” David chokes out as he is pulled into his father’s chest in a firm embrace. He tries to bat him away, but the King is insistent, and he eventually leans into the affection hesitantly.

“Oh, David, I would be honoured to give you my blessing.”

“You’re… You mean I can--”

“Yes, son, of course you can marry him. I thought you already knew; your mother was not of noble blood either and my father said the same thing to me. We can marry for love, and we can marry out of obligation. But when those two things can be brought together, that is when we will be truly happy. As rulers, we give ourselves to our people wholeheartedly, and to be able to marry for love, well-- that is the greatest gift of all.”

“Well, I don’t think we’ve said that word _just_ yet,” David grumbles but he’s smiling as his father grips him by the shoulders and looks at him happily. “You’ll really give your blessing?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

***

David steps out of his quarters and turns, and there Patrick stands, just as promised, back pressed to the stone wall, fingers drumming nervously.

“David--”

“Um, my father had a lot of opinions,” David says softly as Patrick approaches.

“We can still leave, we can go anywhere, just tell me what you want to do, David, and we can do it.”

“He’s thinking a monochrome theme for the wedding,” David replies.

There is silence, before Patrick is throwing himself into David’s open arms and clinging onto him. His head fits perfectly over David’s shoulder and their bodies seem to click together like two puzzle pieces finally coming home.

“You’re telling the truth, he- he gave his blessing?”

David nods, but the movement of his head is stopped by Patrick’s lips on his.

They marry in June; a beautiful procession of white and silver carriages takes the family to the church where they are wed under a canopy of colourful flowers. A silver crown rests upon David’s head, and a matching one is placed on his husband’s as he kneels before the King.

The crown tilts to the side on Patrick’s head, slipping against his soft curls, and David reaches over from beside him and straightens it, earning a blinding smile from his husband.

The Kingdom’s people watch on as the new Prince is crowned, a commoner among the people, and the winner of David Rose’s heart.

“I now pronounce you husbands, and joint heirs to the crown of Rose Creek. You may kiss each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to seadeepy and fairmanor.
> 
> I would like to clarify that this is simply inspired by Merlin and the Medieval Court, I have done zero proper historical research into it, and I have not tried to be correct in use of titles, settings, or traditions, simply because I didn't want to. I also almost put a dragon in but decided against it. Maybe next time. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed 👑 Let me know what you thought by leaving a comment !


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